


that takes the cake

by dotpyenji



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, first fic i guess?????, lord please save me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 20:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotpyenji/pseuds/dotpyenji
Summary: Fritz bakes a cake, and Vixel helps him taste it.
Relationships: Fritz/Vixel (Dragalia Lost)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	that takes the cake

“Nice cake,” Vixel said nonchalantly.

Fritz nearly dropped the cake-cutter; he hadn’t noticed Vixel sneak up behind him. He turned his head towards Vixel and pouted. 

“Sheesh, music man, could you knock the next time you come into the kitchen? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Vixel chuckled. “My apologies. That is a lovely cake, though.”

“Eh, thanks, I guess.”

Fritz looked back at the cake, coated with dark chocolate icing, which he had intended to slice. He had tried to follow, with religious zeal, the recipe Annelie had given him. Still, many things seemed off—the top of the cake wasn’t perfectly level, and the icing was lumpy. Who knew how it even tasted? 

He looked back at Vixel. “But I don’t think it turned out well.”

“So you say.” Vixel paused, eyes on the cake. “What’s it for?”

“Well, Cleo has a bad cold, so Prince Euden passed on kitchen duty to me and the rest of the circus crew, since we’re all decent cooks.” Fritz shrugged. “They put me in charge of dessert, and Annelie gave me a recipe for chocolate cake, so here we are.”

“I see.”

“Really wish they let me do the meat, though. Or the veggies.” Fritz dramatically twirled the cake cutter in his hand. “I’m more of a chopping-board guy than a baker. This is my first time making a cake.” He could cook with the best of them, but baking? Nah.

Vixel nodded thoughtfully. “Have you tasted it?

“Well, I was about to, before I was rudely interrupted by a certain conductor.”

“Heh.” Vixel smiled, gentle but teasing.

“Do you bake, maestro?”

“Sometimes.” Vixel leaned forward slightly, peering at the cake, his chin nearly touching Fritz’s shoulder. Fritz inhaled sharply—their faces were so close—and hoped that Vixel, good with sounds as he was, wouldn’t pick up on the rapid beating within his ribcage. “Maritimus often asks me to bake Mariti-shaped cakes for his side businesses, as the last time he asked Lucretia to do it, she nearly burned the orphanage down. Then there’s the occasional tray of cookies, if I’m in the mood.” Vixel shook his head. “Nothing too fancy.”

Fritz frowned, incredulous. “So not only are you a renowned conductor and an amazing singer—“

“I’m not—“

“—but you can bake well, too?!” Fritz sighed, pulling away from Vixel, both enamored at Vixel’s talent and disgusted at the fuzzy warmth pooling in his stomach.

“I’m not that—“

“Oh, come on, Vix, I’ve bought and eaten those Mariti cakes. They’re like heaven in a box! Light, fluffy, not too sweet—“

“The ingredients Maritimus provide are of utmost quality, that’s all,” Vixel huffed. Still, there was a slight touch of red on his cheeks; Fritz, upon noticing this, broke into a lopsided grin. A small victory for him, though he’d never admit it aloud.

“Well,” Fritz said, “point is, you’re better than me, Mr. Talent. I suck at baking.”

“Come, now; don’t be childish. This isn’t a competition. Besides…” Vixel, with one slender pianist’s finger, pointed at the cake cutter still gripped in Fritz’s hand. “If this is your first cake, and you haven’t tasted it yet, then there’s no way of knowing for sure whether it ‘sucks’ or not.”

“’Course it does! Look at the icing. It’s all lumpy.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t taste good.”

“Eh, I guess so. Time to taste-test it, then.” Fritz dug the cake cutter into the soft give of the icing.

“Mind if I have a bite, too?”

Fritz blinked. “Sure about that? You might be booking yourself a trip to Indigestion Town.”

“I’m sure your cake is fine, Fritz. It sounds safe.”

“…’Sounds’? How do you hear a cake?”

“Well…” Vixel hummed as he watched Fritz cut out two slices. “I can’t explain it, but believe me, it’s nothing to make a hullaballoo about. It sounds fine.”

“Whatever, Vixel.” Fritz stared at the cake cutter in his hand, now coated with sticky, lumpy icing. Vixel was like the cutter—perfect, shiny, sharp. And what was Fritz? The icing—imperfect, uneven, probably worse than it looks, clinging desperately to the cutter’s gleaming blade. It would be washed away, sooner or later.

He glanced at Vixel—who was back to peering over his shoulder, their faces mere centimeters apart—and mused over his feelings. They were definitely unrequited; why would Vixel, as pretty and put-together as the pristine black-and-white keys of an organ, be attracted to Fritz, former cutpurse turned circus performer?

“Fritz?”

“Ah—“ Fritz realized he’d been staring, and tore his eyes away from Vixel’s visage. “Sorry, Vixel. Just, uh…checking out your earrings.”

“…Earrings?”

“Yeah.” Fritz reached beneath the kitchen countertop for plates.

“I’m not wearing earrings today.”

“Oh.” Fritz paused, racking his brain for an excuse. Lies came easily to him—a useful, but dirty, talent. “…Exactly! I was checking out your lack of earrings. Why aren’t you wearing them?”

“Ah. I forgot to. Rather silly of me.”

“Mmhmm.” Fritz, grinning but innately mortified, laid two wooden platters, each as big as his hand, on the table. He deposited a hefty slice of cake on one plate, and a thinner, more clean-cut slice onto the other, trying to keep up an oblivious façade. “Anyway, maestro, pick your poison.”

Vixel studied the plates. “You didn’t cut them evenly?”

“Eh, well, I didn’t know if you wanted a big slice or a small one, so I just cut it both ways.”

“How considerate. Thank you. But…” Vixel cocked his head to the side. “What about you? Which slice would you prefer?”

“Anything goes, maestro.”

“Alright, then.” Vixel reached for the thinner slice, as Fritz predicted. He took the plate in one hand and asked, “Got a fork?”

“Gimme a sec.” Fritz reached under the countertop again and brought out two small dessert forks, one of which he tossed to Vixel. It spun one, twice, thrice in the air, much like how he flipped his knives around for show in the circus, before Vixel caught it.

Vixel wore a jokingly exasperated look. “You could’ve just handed it to me normally.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“Point taken.” Vixel started to smile, and broke into a soft laugh, which sent the butterflies in Fritz’s stomach into absolute chaos.

Still, he forced a calm demeanor. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking…” Vixel jammed the fork into his cake, his grin settling into a wistful line. “…It’s not important.”

“Alright, then. Time to dig in!”

They both ate in relative silence, Fritz leaning with his back against the counter, and Vixel, beside him, doing the same. Vixel was right—the cake wasn’t too bad, though Fritz wished he knew how to smoothen out the icing. Still, it was delicious, but a far cry from the Mariti cakes Vixel had apparently made.

Fritz had almost finished his cake when he glanced at Vixel’s, and his heart sank. Vixel had barely touched his slice; he wasn’t even eating. Instead, his eyes were closed, and his head was tilted slightly in Fritz’s direction. There was a tiny smudge of icing on the corner of his lips.

“It’s bad, huh?” Fritz said.

“Hm?” Vixel’s eyes shot open. “Oh—no—it’s great, Fritz.” As if to prove it, he dug his fork into the cake and bit into a sizeable chunk, looking Fritz dead in the eye.

“Aw, you don’t need to force yourself, Vixel. If you don’t like it, just say so.”

Vixel’s brows knitted together. “What do you mean? It is enjoyable.”

“But you’ve barely eaten any.”

“Ah—well…” Vixel looked away. “I was…listening.”

“Listening? To what? The cake?” Fritz looked at his own piece of cake, which was decidedly not making any sounds.

Vixel started to nod, before shaking his head. “Not really. It’s just…” He pointed a fork in Fritz’s direction. “I was listening to you, actually.”

“…Eh?”

Vixel hesitated, fidgeting. “Your sound is…pleasant, that’s all.”

“Wait, wait. Run that by me again.” Fritz shot Vixel a look, unbelieving, but…hopeful. Did that statement mean anything? Maybe not…but also, maybe. “You’re not eating because you’re busy listening to…me?”

“Mm. It’s just...” Vixel paused, and put a hand to his chest, as if to steady himself. Fritz’s eyes trailed the movement.

“Go on, Vix, I’m all ears.” Fritz leaned forward, closer to Vixel, until their heads were as close as they were when he was cutting the cake. “What were you saying?”

Vixel swallowed. “Your sound is…nice. Fascinating, really. The click of your heels, the clank of your daggers, the lilt in your voice…I’m not sure why, but it’s soothing. Like music. So…when you were eating…I hadn’t heard you…before, so…” Vixel’s face had gone a faint red. “Sorry. It must sound strange.”

“No worries, music man.” Fritz couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his lips; and yet, he knew it was folly to pin his hopes on so trivial a statement. “Besides, you’ve said before that everything sounds like music to you, right? So I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Ah, yes, but…Never mind. Thank you for understanding.” Vixel resumed eating his cake.

Fritz’s plate was now empty, save for a few crumbs; he set it on the counter with his fork and observed Vixel. The conductor’s hands trembled, almost unnoticeably. There was still a smudge of icing on the corner of his lips, so near Fritz’s own.

And suddenly, Fritz saw—a dagger and a target, metaphorical, but vital; a shot he couldn’t afford to miss. The target, right in front of him, and the dagger—

“Hey, Vixel.”

He turned his head towards Fritz, their noses almost touching. “Yes?”

“There’s some icing on your face.”

“Ah—?”

“Yeah, let me get it off you.”

“Oh, tha—“

Fritz, eyes closed, grabbed Vixel’s waist, leaned forward, and quickly pressed his lips onto Vixel’s. Vixel gasped, and Fritz felt him shudder as they touched. Vixel’s plate clattered to the floor—a problem for another time. Then, with one swift motion, Fritz stuck out his tongue and licked the icing, bittersweet, off Vixel’s lips, before hastily pulling back, though his hands remained on Vixel.

He opened his eyes, slow and cautious, the taste of chocolate still fresh. The smudge of icing was far from gone—in fact, the icing that had been on Fritz’s own tongue only served to create an even bigger mark on Vixel’s face. Suddenly, Fritz felt that he had dared too far, that he had misinterpreted the moment—he had thrown a dagger when there was no target.

Fritz couldn’t look Vixel in the eyes, so he checked what was right below them—Vixel’s fair skin, turning rosy shades of red, and his lips, partly open in surprise. The air was weighted with silence, save for their puffs of breath; and even those were sparse, with too many seconds between them.

Drawing back his fingers, Fritz began crafting lies in his head, anything to repair whatever damage his rashness had caused. Toss out a stupid, endearing grin and go, _Just kidding!_ Or feign drunkenness. Maybe spit out a stream of nonsensical eloquence straight from the annals of a thesaurus and pretend he was not Fritz, but some kind of demonic doppelganger. After all, was that not what he was good at? Lying, pretending, and burying the filth of his soul with even more dirt?

Hopeless; that’s what Fritz was, for daring to aim his knife at a target so far out of his league it might as well have not been there.

He decided to laugh it off, and pretend it was all a big joke. That, at least, he could do well.

“Um—“

Vixel grabbed Fritz by the collar and pulled him close, and their lips met again, this time faster, harder, Vixel moving his hands up to cup Fritz’s cheeks. Fritz, stunned, instinctively tightened his hold on Vixel’s waist, pressing them closer together, and the parts where they touched burning hot and freezing cold simultaneously.

Fritz tasted bittersweet chocolate as his mouth hugged Vixel’s. They kissed, tongues dancing in each other’s mouths, breathless.

Finally, after what was both an eternity and far too short a time, Vixel leaned back; though their faces were still close, and Fritz could hear every puff of breath.

Vixel stared at him, still flushed, and mumbled something.

Fritz raised an eyebrow, to which Vixel replied, a little louder, “You look like a mess.”

“…Pardon?”

Vixel drew a handkerchief from his pocket and drew it to Fritz’s chin. “There’s icing all over your face.”

Fritz, for a few moments, was stunned beyond disbelief, before breaking into a wide grin. “That’s all you have to say?”

Vixel huffed, but he was smiling, too. He threw a glance at the cake on the floor as he wiped the icing off Fritz’s face. “Sorry about the cake.”

“Eh, it’s no big deal. Besides, I got a much better treat, anyway.”

Vixel blushed, before slowly shaking his head. “You are a buffoon, Fritz.”

“Oh, yeah? And what does that make you, music man?”

“Fair enough.”

They both broke into a short bout of laughter, until Fritz gestured to the cake on the floor. “Well, I gotta clean that up.” He grabbed a rag from off the counter, bent down, and began wiping up the cake, flinging the platter onto the counter. “Man, you barely touched it.”

“It was delicious, though…I just got…distracted.”

“Huh…” Fritz scooped up the cake and tossed it, without looking, into a bin behind him; there was a quick thud as it hit its mark. “You got distracted by the better meal, huh?”

“Don’t be vulgar, Fritz…” Even so, a ghost of a smirk lingered on Vixel’s countenance. “But, really, thank you. I thought…my feelings were...I’m just relieved.”

“Same here, maestro.”

Fritz raised his head and studied Vixel; Fritz had struck his target against all odds, so surely he was allowed to do it again.

“Anyway,” said the dagger-thrower, “care for another bite?”

“Of the cake?”

Fritz beamed. “’Course not.”

Vixel leaned closer. “As I thought.”

And their lips met again, the dessert on the kitchen countertop all but forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> since fritz's adventurer story confirms that he can cook, and vixel's dragalia life comic confirms that he can bake, here's a story where fritz...tries to bake? i don't know what i'm doing but i hope this turned out ok. constructive criticism welcome


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